


Transcend

by ohhaypsy



Series: Who Are These Douchebags? [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Broken Moirallegiance, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Karkat Swearing, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, implied praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhaypsy/pseuds/ohhaypsy
Summary: Dave doesn't get troll romance, but that's okay because Karkat is bad at it anyway.A journey through all four quadrants and a bit more.





	1. Ashen

**Author's Note:**

> Ain't nothing like jumping into a dead fandom.
> 
> First time writing Homestuck, no beta, but spent way more time editting this thing than it probably deserves.
> 
> Canon compliant with the retcon timeline in that Vriska is present. Mostly I just didn't let her steal Karkat's Gamzee-pacifying thunder.
> 
> The whole thing is already written, so no worries about getting left hanging. 
> 
> Also my first time posting on AO3 hooray

You might not have a lot of experience with healthy relationships -- or any relationships at all for that matter -- and even less with healthy _troll_ relationships, but even you can tell that this one would have any doctor taking it out back to do an Old Yeller on it it’s so unhealthy.

Karkat doesn't sleep, but that’s hardly anything new. But the dude is jumpy as a tree frog and you catch him constantly eyeballing the nearest vent. Troll quadrants and romance are totally dumb, but you’re pretty sure that a monorailship isn’t supposed to leave one party so on edge that he’s wasting away like a former child star on a heroin binge.

He disappears periodically. You can always tell it’s going to happen because you start hearing a juggalo of unusual size scrambling about in the vents. And then suddenly you won't see Karkat for days. Considering you spend most of your time with him watching shitty movies or building Can Town or drawing dicks in Rose’s journals, it’s noticeable when he’s gone.

He comes back every time looking more tired and more stressed and you’re done with it. He’s your only bro on this meteor and damned if you’re going to let him be emotionally eaten alive by a murderous clown.

Karkat brushes you off if you ever mention Gamzee, so you figure it’s time to be uncharacteristically proactive. No matter how hard you search, you can never find them on the meteor, so you’re stuck crawling through the vents like a protagonist in some shitty spy movie. You figure that Makara decapitating you like this would count as an embarrassing death rather than anything heroic or just, so you’ve got that going for you.

You move slower once you hear the honks, doing your best to keep quiet in this aluminium birth canal. A few more ungraceful squirms forward and you start hearing voices.

“Gamzee, just, put the head down, all right? I know she --”

SLAM. You scurry faster, no longer bothering to keep quiet.

“DON’T MOTHERFUCKING TALK ABOUT SHIT YOU DON’T KNOW MOTHERFUCKER. Spiderbitch is gonna motherfucking pay for _alllll_ her wicked shit. YOU BEEN LETTING HER ALL UP AND WALK ABOUT LIKE SHE BE OWNING THE WHOLE MOTHERFUCKING PLACE.”

“You stupid shitstain clown we all need to be--!”

SLAM. Fuck, how the hell do they navigate these gogdamn vents? The voices sound closer, and you can feel whatever the hell is being slammed about reverberating through the vents.

You hope it’s not Karkat.

“You trying to get all ashen with me and her, you mutantblooded motherfucker? NEVER COULD KEEP YOUR SHIT IN THEIR PROPER FUCKING SQUARES. Just like one of them hornless motherfuckers. OR DO YOU WANNA FLIP BLACK WITH ME CAUSE YOU SURE BE TRIPPIN UP MY WICKED MOTHERFUCKING RAGE RIGHT NOW.”

“Shut the fuck up you psychotic nooksniffer, you don’t know what you’re saying!”

“Oh I know exactly the words that be dropping out my squawk blaster. YOU NEVER CAN FIGURE OUT WHAT YOU MOTHER FUCKING WANT, JUST LIKE WITH THAT BLIND BITCH.” SLAM. “So what’s it gonna be, brother?”

They’re right below you, and before you can think twice about it you’ve got your sword out and with quick cuts you’re tumbling down into some sort of, fuck, you don’t know, vent nexus? And honestly you’re lucky you didn’t end up with your blade up your ass. The fall wasn’t exactly graceful and it takes you a few moments to untangle yourself from your cape.

It’s the right room at least. Empty Faygo bottles and horns and juggling clubs and all kinds of shit just scattered about and in piles. The place definitely has that distinct juggalo funk to its smell and you’re reflexively covering your nose. Oh, not to mention _the fucking troll heads._

“WHAT IN THE SHITTING GRUBFUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE STRIDER?”

You finally look at the trolls -- the living ones, that is. Karkat is backed against the wall, Gamzee looming over him, caging him in with those stupid long arms, palms pressed to the wall on either side of Karkat’s head. But with the way he’s got his fucking psycho eyes trained on you, you can tell it’s your head he’s wanting to take.

However, Karkat also looks ready to murder. You, specifically. “STRIDER. GET YOUR LUMP-SQUIRTING DOUCHE FACE OUT OF HERE, ALL RIGHT?” He’s raging, surprise surprise, but you're pretty sure you hear worry in his voice too.

And you’ve watched enough Lifetime movies (ironically, of course) to tell that the way Gamzee curls over Karkat’s smaller form is hells of possessive and fucked up. “No way. I’m not gonna just--”

“LOOK, MOTHERFUCKER. I believe my invertebrother told you to get the fuck out.” Gamzee’s voice is, if you're honest with yourself, fucking terrifying. You’d heard the other trolls say something about chucklevoodoos, and you’re rethinking your stance on them as bullshit.

Karkat’s hands move to Gamzee’s face, trying to force the other to look at him and failing. “You giant imbecile, let me handle this.” Yup, that’s definitely worry in his tone.

Your hand tightens on your sword. “Yeah, not leaving you here with Fucko the Clown, bro.”

The clubs come out of nowhere and Fucko’s advancing on you. “GONNA ADD YOUR HEAD TO THE PILE YOU BLASPHEMOUS MOTHERFUCKER.”

You raise your sword -- this place is too enclosed for your tastes, though you’ve made do in worse. But before contact is made, Karkat is between both of you. Thank god you and Makara both have _really fucking good_ reflexes and manage to hold back before simultaneously running him through and bashing his skull in.

You’re both frozen. It’s obvious that Karkat’s about to crap himself in fear, but he doesn’t move until the both of you lower your weapons. He takes a moment to find your eyes behind your shades, waiting until you nod and step back.

And then all of his focus is on Gamzee. “Shoosh… shoosh…” Gamzee lets Karkat gently pull his arms down, but the clown is still staring at you with murder in his eyes. His clubs are gone and he drops to his knees. Long arms wrap around Karkat, and finally Gamzee looks away from you and presses his face into Karkat’s stomach.

Even without understanding the weird fucky platonic romance of trolls, you know you’re watching something incredibly intimate. Karkat alternates running his fingers through Gamzee's hair and patting -- papping, you remember -- his face. “Shoosh…” Gamzee at least somewhat pacified, Karkat turns his glare on you. “Get the fuck out.” It’s a hiss, but one so soft it sounds more like an exhale than anything else. And there’s that worry again. He’s trying to keep you safe.

Makara starts to stir slightly and Karkat holds him tighter. You abscond the hell out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	2. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave and Karkat are more difficult to write than I was expecting them to be.

You’re waiting for the explosion. You know it’s on its way. After what you saw… well, to be totally honest you're not sure what you saw. You’d heard about the murderfest that went on before you and Rose arrived on the meteor, and can't quite figure out how the fuck everyone is okay with the perpetrators just meandering about the place.

Especially the fucking juggalo. Kanaya, of all people, had made it clear that she’d pull a murder on him if she was given the chance, but she wouldn't go out looking for such an opportunity. Everyone was content to let him shuffle around the vents, as long as Karkat was there to keep him calm. 

But who would protect Karkat from Gamzee?

You don’t like the way the thought sounds in your head, because holy shit that is _gay,_ but during the course of the game you’d accepted your role as protector of your friends -- your _family._ And that had extended to everyone else on the meteor. Except, of course, Makara. Because as Kanaya had so succinctly said, just. Fuck that guy.

You’d asked Kanaya about troll romance; the bit that had filtered through you tuning out Karkat’s long-as-fuck-winded explanations gave you the basics, but you still didn't _get_ it. Two of the quadrants didn't seem like romance at all and another was so fucked up you didn't even want to think about it. You’d figured maybe a troll perspective would help.

You were sure that Kanaya and Rose would get the wrong -- totally, totally _wrong --_ idea when you asked, but luckily for you, they were too caught up in their own bullshit courtship dance. Kanaya went bright when you asked and glanced sideways at Rose -- who you knew was just _pretending_ to be reading -- then shuffled a bit and suggested that you speak to Karkat, as he was the self-proclaimed expert on the subject.

Too bad no one had seen Karkat in days. A lot more than the usual amount when he was juggalo-wrangling. You count seconds in between berating yourself for leaving Karkat there and wondering just what the fuck had happened after you left.

You’re freaking the fuck out.

So when it’s the middle of the arbitrary night and you’re making coffee for yourself because your sleep schedule is beyond fucked, and Karkat just shuffles in looking like hell to make a cup for himself and acting like everything’s all peachy-dandy, you flip the fuck out.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Your tone is sharper than you mean for it to be and Karkat practically jumps out of his skin. The coffee goes flying, and Karkat’s backed up against the counter, hands grabbing the edge as though he was going to crawl up it. His eyes are wide and you can really see just how _fucking awful_ he looks.

He hasn’t slept in days; the dark circles under his eyes have hit panda-level. The sclera is more orange than yellow, the troll version of bloodshot, you figure. He was always scrawny, but his body is losing muscle mass now. Even his skin is ashier than usual. He’s wasting away.

You recover first, expression locked down. “You look like shit.” Like shit, but alive, which has you more relieved than you want to admit.

It takes Karkat longer to pull himself together, still panting and shaking as he crouches down to clean up the spilled coffee with a rag he pulls out of his sylladex. His voice is rough and scratchy when he speaks. “Well maybe if you hadn’t been trying to make my bloodpusher explode out of my thoracic cavity.” Fuck, he isn't even shouting or cursing inventively.

And somehow, he’s acting like everything is normal.

“Okay, no, fuck this.” You grab his shoulder, pulling him up to his feet.

He smacks your arm away from him, snarling. “Don't fucking touch me, you bulgegobbling thunderfuck.”

“No.” You grab his wrist, pretending that you can’t feel the bones practically stabbing you through his sweater sleeves. “You’re not gonna pretend that going missing for one week, two days, thirteen hours, and forty-seven minutes is no big fucking deal.” Unsurprisingly, estimating time isn't really your thing.

Karkat tries to pull away from you, but he’s back against the counter. “Everything is _fine,_ I’m not pretending jack shit!”

“The fuck you aren’t. I know fine. I know what fine looks like. I got my doctorate in fine. Dr. Strider, fine-ologist. Published my peer-reviewed dissertation in the Academic Journal of Fine. Everthing is most fucking certainly not gogdamn fine.”

You let him wrench his wrist away this time, but he doesn’t move. “What in the Mother Grub loving fuck are you babbling about!”

There’s the ornery little shit the audience has come to know and love. “I thought the juggalo had added your head to his shrine, bro.”

His eyes -- you can see they’re starting to redden around the edge of the iris and holy fuck your faces are close -- widen before snapping down into a slitted glare. “Keep your ignorance trap shut about shit you know fuck all about.”

His voice is a dangerous hiss, but it’s hard for you to be intimidated by a grey sack of bones with nubby horns. “You trying to say I didn't interrupt a murderous clown trying to slam you through a wall?”

He grabs fistfuls of your shirt and before you can say Bob’s Your Uncle and Fanny’s Your Hot Aunt, your positions are reversed and he’s slamming you against the counter with more strength than you would have expected. Damn your back is going to hurt. “He’s my moirail you hoofbeast fucker! You interrupted ME trying to do my FUCKING JOB!”

“If being a moirail means letting a psycho clown beat your ass, troll romance is even stupider than I thought.”

You don’t see the punch coming, but it snaps your head to the side and sends your shades flying off your face. You _really_ hadn't expected that, and you're startled enough to not even think about the way they skitter across the floor. If there’s one thing you know about Karkat it’s that despite being a vitriol spewing asshole from a bloodthirsty alien race, he’s not a fighter. Sure, he’s moderately handy with his sickles, but killing imps in Sburb or strifing with his crabdad isn't the same as a real _fight._

Before you can think about it, your instincts honed by being raised by a douchey self-appointed sensei obsessed with martial training kick in and you’re shoving Karkat back to give you enough space to tackle him to the ground. 

The fight doesn’t last long, but Karkat holds his own better than you expected. Weapons never come out, but you're pretty sure he manages to split your lip. Well, he’ll have a black eye in a few hours. A red eye? Fuck, you don’t know how trolls work.

But no matter how slippery and fast and surprisingly strong the little shit is, you’re faster and stronger and _not_ wasting away. You’re sitting on him, his wrists pinned to the floor on either side of his head while he pants and squirms and glares up at you. Then suddenly he stops moving, still breathing heavily as he lets his head fall back to the floor, baring his throat to you.

And holy fuck you hope he can’t feel your sudden boner.

But he can, and you’re mentally flipping the fuck out when he looks up at you with wide eyes. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck this is kismeshit territory, isn’t it? You release his wrists reflexively and both of you skitter back from the other in a crabwalk, breathing heavily as the both of you just _stare._

You don't know how long you just sit like that. That’s a lie, it’s two minutes and twenty-one seconds, but it feels like a fucking _eternity._ You’re just grateful that your dick’s gone soft.

Karkat is shaking, and you can't tell if he’s about to yell or cry. Maybe both. But he breaks eye contact with you, shaking his head. “I can't do this,” he says, softer than you've ever heard him before, and stands.

He doesn't look back at you when he leaves.

Rose would be having a fucking field day if she knew about the confusion rolling through your thinkpan -- fuck, _brain,_ fucking trollspeak. You really don't know how to feel about going full mast after fighting with your second best bro. All that’s in your head is a dull static. You realize your shades are beside you and numbly put them on. How did you not scramble for them immediately?

But then there’s a fucking horn honk behind you and you nearly shit your fancy red god pajamas.

You’re on your feet, weapon at the ready, but Gamzee doesn't approach you. He’s not even glaring at you. Just leaning against the wall, an open vent above his head. Fuck, he’s as silent as Bro ever was. The idea that you’d only ever hear him when he wanted you to makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You looked pretty motherfucking black with my best bro just now,” he drawls lowly.

You lower your sword, but don't loosen your grip. “I don't do that troll bullshit. You jealous, fuckface?”

It takes every bit of self control you have to not flinch when he slams his club on the metal counter next to him. Damn, he’s a quick draw. “I SHOULD BASH THAT MOTHERFUCKING BLASPHEMING HEAD OF YOURS IN, WATCH ALL THAT CANDY COME OUT.”

Okay, so suddenly he wants to eat your brains. You don't understand this fuck’s psychoses, but that doesn't make him any less scary. You wonder if Karkat’s still close enough to hear his moirail’s shouting, but hope he isn't. “I’m not hearing a no.”

Chucklevoodoos have to be a thing, because it feels like Makara is in your brain, making himself right at home, curling up in a pile of your grey matter while he claws at the inside of your skull. You can feel your heart beating faster, your palm sweating on the grip of your sword.

And then, just as suddenly, he retreats. His body language is languid once again, and he shrugs at you. Just. Fucking. Shrugs. “Motherfucker’s yours.” And he hauls himself back up into the vent, skittering away.

….What the ever-loving shit does _that_ mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	3. Pale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sappy and I'm not as confident in it.
> 
> In other news: Dave thinks about boners a lot.

Karkat doesn’t disappear again, and that’s somehow _worse._ Because now you have to watch him waste away. When you can, anyway, the little shit avoids being alone with you like you're a close talker with halitosis. You expected as much though, because you can't _not_ think about how you popped a boner into his hip anymore than he can.

Fuck, that wrinkles your brain. The whole hate-fucking idea still makes you incredibly uncomfortable, but somehow angry wrestling gave you an erection. And there’s just not enough to do to keep you from dwelling on the fact that Little Dave was super interested in having Karkat pinned beneath you, throat exposed and practically begging for your teeth.

He’s your _bro._ You spend time mixing music together and chilling with the Mayor in between Karkat’s vent-ventures. He’s your reprieve from lovestruck girls and cackling psychos. He’s the dude you put up with watching sappy romantic comedies and trying to hide smiles when he gets emotional over them, just to get to hang out with him. Hell, you wouldn’t put up with watching a shitty Nic Cage movie for John, but you’ll watch even shittier Troll Dane Cook movies three times each for Karkat.

So despite it all, you're still seeking out Karkat.

Gamzee bro-dumped him, and the fucked up part is you’re pretty sure Karkat doesn't have the faintest clue. You saw the clown hitting on Terezi, and luckily the girl was smart enough to push him backwards over Vriska. That was fucking hilarious. But hitting on, even black hitting on, a dude’s former… what the fuck ever Karkat and Terezi were, is a pretty intense violation of bro code, you don't care what troll romance has to say about it. 

You could see the hurt in his face every time you flirted with Terezi, and that was back when he didn’t even like you. How deep would it cut to know your supposed best bro betrayed you by legitly moving in on the girl you liked?

As weird as it might sound… Karkat’s really a sensitive little dude behind all that bluster. He’s hells of invested in his friends. And with Kanaya off with Rose, Terezi off with Vriska, and Gamzee being a colossal douche, that left Karkat with…

Aw man, you really need to find the guy.

The door to his room is open as you approach it, which makes you raise an eyebrow. Karkat’s respiteblock is his sanctuary. You've never seen the inside of it before, and doubt anyone else has. Except maybe Gamzee. Ugh, you wish you could stop thinking about that juggalo.

You carefully push the door open more -- it’s not intruding if it’s already open right? -- bracing yourself for the screech telling you to get the fuck out, Strider, you shame globe fondling fucksuck.

But there’s nothing. “Karkat?” A pile of blankets stirs slightly, but doesn't otherwise move. Karkat’s bundled himself up, one horn sticking out from under the blanket he’s got over his head like Troll Mother Teresa. And he is passed the fuck out, sitting up, facing the vent in his room.

If that isn't just the most pitiful sight you've ever seen. You step in and close the door behind you, figuring Karkat wouldn't want anyone to see him like this. Especially not you, but that ship has sailed. Moving quietly, though you're really surprised he didn't jolt awake when you said his name, you crouch down beside him. 

...You're not sure what to do. Motherfucker needs this sleep, and bad, but depending on how long his coma lasts, he’s going to be hurting. And considering you're a good chunk of the reason he’s pining after his ex-moirail like a one legged puppy, the least you can do is help him get more comfortable sleep.

You’re not going to carry him to bed like some swooning Victorian maid, and the pile of blankets is more like a nest than anything else, so you gingerly shift him so he’s lying on his side. Man, he looks weird like this, like a cat that’s all wet and you can see how much of its size was just fur. It’s an apt analogy; Karkat was always puffing up, hissing, trying to be intimidating. Even around his friends in some misguided attempt at self-defense, covering his insecurity with arrogance and disdain for everyone else, pretending to be some sort of cool badass to hide a complete and utter lack of self-confidence, smothering feelings under layers of apathy and detachment so as not to appear weak and wait, no. Fuck this is getting way too introspective for you.

And then there’s a hand on your arm.

“Gamzee?” You’d never admit it, but your heart breaks just a little at the hope in his tone. He’s instinctively trying to pull you down to him, thinking that you're Makara. Do they snuggle? Well, the weird best-bros quadrant is a part of troll romance, so maybe there’s more to it than you’ve assumed.

You lower yourself, but don't let him pull you down all the way, instead awkwardly hovering over him. “Nah, man, just go back to sleep.”

“...Dave?” Fuck, he’s waking up, that is exactly the opposite of what you told him to do. He pushes at you weakly and tries to squirm away, his body still exhausted. “Fuck off, Gamzee won't come out if you're here.”

Though groggy, his tone is angry. You just want him to go back to sleep, so you hold him still and bring a hand up to the side of his face, patting it softly “I’ll fuck off once your ass is back in Dream Land with Kirby, sucking things up through your dueling vacuous holes, so shush.”

But Karkat is wide awake now, staring up at you with huge eyes. Fuck, Makara’s behind you isn't he? But no, Karkat is staring at you, not past you. 

...Oh fuck. You’re patting and shushing him. Patting and shushing, not shooshing and papping. You tell yourself there’s a world of difference.

Karkat obviously doesn't see it though, and this time shoves you off of him for real and sits up. “Strider, my _actual_ moirail will shove his fist so far up your waste chute he’ll hit your meal tunnel and use you like one of your lusus’ shitty puppets, and he’ll do it _motherfucking mirthfully_ so for your own deficient sense of self-preservation, which aforementioned lusus obviously failed to beat into you with his shitty anime sword an infinite number of times, don't. Fucking. _Pap me.”_

“Don't fucking talk about my Bro,” you snap back before you can stop yourself, the words on the express train from Brain City to Mouth Town, full service with no stop in Filterville. It was just a passing mention, but it sets you off. Despite Rose’s best efforts to make you talk, despite this stupid meteor’s best efforts to strip away your untouchable coolkid guise, you have resolutely not thought about your Bro. Or the fact that he’s dead. Or the fact that you found his bleeding corpse with his iconic sword through it. And especially not the fact despite the weird, shitty way he raised you, you miss him so gogdamn much that it _physically hurts._

But lip curled in a snarl, Karkat pushes. “Why? It’s not like he actually raised you. Even Gamzee’s shitty lusus just wasn't around instead of constantly attacking him. I don't _get_ humans; you're all about your weird fucking ‘families' but then let wigglers be raised by psychotic fuckheads who make you hunt for food in your own hives! And then proceed to _idolize_ said fuckheads! Even trolls don't expect grubs to completely fend for themselves, and _we’re_ supposed to fight our way out of the fucking brooding caverns! We strife with our lususes but we don't oh fuck, Dave?”

You know he was just ranting. You know he was just trying to deflect from talking about Gamzee. But it hits in all the wrong places because you really, _really_ don't want to address the ways Bro was fucked up and how fucked up it was that you thought he was the coolest. Rose knew, but always approached it subtly, trying to get _you_ to talk about it. And here was Karkat Vantas, reaching inside and pulling it out and forcing you to _look_ at it. 

You don't know when you curled in on yourself, or when Karkat got close enough to take off your shades. You don't react; it’s almost like you're watching the whole scene from outside your body. “Dave? Oh fuck, fuck, I didn't mean to break you, I’m sorry, I won't do it again, fuck oh fuck oh fuck, come back to me Strider, come on.”

All it takes is one push from a scrawny hate-spewing troll to bring everything you've pushed down bubbling up to the surface. Around Terezi and especially Rose, you keep your guard up so high that not even the wiliest immigrants would attempt the climb. But somehow it’s not even tall enough to stumble over when it comes to Karkat. You can't help but wonder when that happened.

You're vaguely conscious of the fact that he’s pulling you back to him, hugging you tightly. He’s warm and his sweater is thick and plush. You don't relax, but you let him hold you, not even caring that his skin and bones frame _really_ isn't comfortable. His collarbone is pressing into your cheek and his hip will probably leave a bruise on your stomach. But he holds you tighter, running his fingers through your hair and muttering promises that he won't ever bring up your Bro again.

You stay there for six minutes and thirty-two seconds before you try to pull away. Karkat’s grip on you tightens, and it feels nice, but you don't know how to deal with this sort of contact because you've never experienced it before. “Dude, you can let go, I’m fine.”

“The fuck you are.” There’s a shake in his voice. He’s scared. For you. 

“You caught me off guard, that’s all, I’m just being stupid, you don't have to--”

“Dave.” The way he says your name sends a shiver down your spine, like you’re the only thing in the world right now, and being under the high beam of Karkat’s focus is intense. He shifts the both of you so you're laying on your sides facing each other, and holds your face so you can't look away. “You're not being stupid. You're not stupid. I’m sorry I pushed, and you don't have to talk about it, and I won't bring it up again, but…” He hesitates, obviously trying to decide whether to continue talking. “Just tell me… You know the stuff he did to you was fucked up, right?”

You flinch, but he doesn't let go. It takes you twenty-two seconds before you nod your response. It’s the first time you've admitted it.

He pulls you back to him, tucking your head against his chest and stroking your hair again. “It’s okay to still miss him.”

It’s like he cut your strings, and finally you slump into him. You didn't realize you were waiting for someone to say that it was okay that you missed the douche nozzle agalmatophiliac. Rose kept trying to pry at your feelings about the fact that he was dead, about your shitty upbringing. You knew it was shitty, deep down, listening to John and Rose bitch about their parental units. You knew it wasn't right. 

But it’s okay to resent someone _and_ miss them all at once.

Karkat’s massaging the back of your skull; it’s something no one has ever done for you, and fuck does it feel good. It’s calming and soothing, and no wonder everyone trusted Karkat to keep Gamzee pacified. Dumbass juggalo fuck didn't appreciate what he had.

And shit, Karkat still doesn't know that Makara has abandoned him. With a sigh, you lift your head just enough to look at Karkat. He’s watching you carefully, seeing how you're doing.

You hate being the bearer of bad news, but better to rip that band-aid off. “Look, Karkat, I know you're worried about Gamzee--”

“It’ll be fine.” Karkat interrupts. “He’ll understand. I’ll make him understand.” There’s a gentle determination in his voice, which is strange. Karkat doesn't do gentle. Except when you go catatonic at the mention of your Bro apparently.

It makes this harder. “That’s not what I meant. Gamzee… he ain't coming back, dude.”

Karkat pulls away from you, but doesn't get up. “He is. He just disappears for awhile because everyone on this fucking meteor wants to stab him in the face. He’s _scared.”_

“Fuck, just shut up and listen to me for a minute, okay?” You sigh, stalling for another two seconds. “He was flirting with Terezi. Or black flirting. Blirting, whatever. And close your mouth before you start on that quadrants shit, I _know_ it’s different for trolls. But it still ain't okay for a best bro to do that to your crush.”

“I don't--”

“Yeah, yeah, you're over her, I know. Doesn't change the facts that it’s a pretty shitty thing to do.”

He’s watching you with an eyebrow raised, obviously not convinced. “Strider, quit being so fucking obtuse. I _am_ over Terezi, we would have been shit matesprits _or_ kismesises, even if I hadn’t fucked it all by being a stupid greedy wiggler who can’t decide between two grubsnacks and chokes to death by shoving both down its protein chute at once. Shitty or not, it doesn't mean anything.”

You know it’s a weak explanation, but you don't really want to bring out your other bit of evidence. But Karkat the Martyr is lame, and, okay, you don't want to see him suffer, especially so needlessly. No juggalo deserves that kind of loyalty. “He told me.”

He sits straight up, but stares down at you, mouth slightly open while his expression moves between shocked, confused, and down right pissed. It settles on pissed. “Fuck you Strider, you’re a lying piece of shit, I don't know if you're getting off on this or what, but you can take what extremely little understanding of moirailship you have and shove it right up whatever serves as your nook because you don't know one damn _thing_ about me or Gamzee, because he would never--”

“It was after our fight.” Karkat falls silent, watching you with suspicion and a bit of embarrassment. Because, obviously, human boner. You sit up and run a hand through your hair. “After you left--” fled “--he popped out of the vent, threatened to eat my brains, then, uh, said he was dumping you, more or less. Then skidooed the fuck outta there.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘more or less’?”

“Well, he talked about smashing my head in and compared my brains to candy, so I figured it was a safe assumption that he wanted to eat them, I mean, come on, who wouldn't want to get their snack on some delicious Strider--”

“Dave. I am filing a cease and fucking desist against your pan-rotting bullshit until you tell me just what the fuck that douche-clown said to make you think he quote-unquote ‘dumped me’. Because considering your egregious lack of understanding when it comes to quadrants no matter how hard I’ve tried to drill that shit into that over-sized lump of granite you call a head, I can guaran-fucking-tee you misunderstood every single fucking thing that happened that day.”

...Does he mean the fight, too? Fuck, Dave, not the point. 

You wish you had your shades; it’s a lot easier to hide your embarrassment and worry. Well, maybe you don’t mind him seeing your worry; god knows he worries enough about everyone else on the meteor. He could stand to see that someone worries about him, too.

A small part of your hindbrain wonders when you stopped freaking out about Karkat actually seeing behind your shades. It was longer ago than you want to think about.

Though that still doesn't mean you want to look him in the eye for this part. So you don’t, and fix your gaze on the wall. “Not sure how I’m supposed to misunderstand two words. He said ‘Motherfucker's yours,’ quite fucking obviously referring to you, like you're a toy some babysitter is forcing us to take turns with or some shit, then skittered back off into the vents before I could say anything. Message seemed pretty clear, bro.”

You hazard a sideways glance at him when he doesn't say anything. Karkat always has something to say. But he’s not looking at you, rather staring resolutely at his hands, mouth slightly open. You’ve never seen him quite literally _dumbfounded_ before, even after all the shit leading up to this moment. Dude keeps finding new ways to throw you off your game. 

“Karkat?” you venture quietly, suppressing the urge to reach out and grab his shoulder. Or, y’know, hug him in a bro-manly-fashion, whatever.

“He actually wanted to vacillate.” His voice is a harsh whisper, talking to himself rather than you. “He actually wanted to go black with me, and then he saw us fight and thought--” He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut. “That dumb piece of--” Holy fuck balls is he _crying?_ “You don't vacillate pale and black, it doesn't fucking _work_ that way, I didn't think he was being serious, I am so fucking _STUPID!”_

His hands are fisted in his hair as he goes fetal, rocking back and forth, growling a chant of _“stupid, stupid, STUPID FUCKING IDIOT!”_ at himself.

You don't know what you're doing, but it’s sure as fuck not thinking, your body moving on its own as you grab his hands out of his hair before he pulls his horns off. You forcibly pull him to you, crushing him against you in a hug. He doesn't resist, curling his fingers into your shirt and is he--? Yep, yep, he is definitely sobbing into your chest.

The asshole part of your brain thinks that if you’d known this shit was going to get so emotional, you would have hung out with the Mayor instead and left Karkat to pine after Makara on his own. But the rest of your brain knows that’s a dirty fucking lie. It feels good to hold Karkat like this, being there for him, like it felt good when he held you earlier. You ape his ministrations from then, one arm still around him, while your opposite hand runs through his hair, massaging his scalp and gently papping his face.

....Yeah, no point in pretending you're not going balls deep on this, so you press your face into his hair and quietly shoosh him.

It takes one minute and fifty-two seconds before he stops sobbing, three more minutes and twelve seconds before he stops crying, and a whopping six minutes and fifty-three seconds before he stops shaking. You’re not sure at what point during that he passes out, but he does, and you’ve still got an armful of unconscious troll huddled up to your chest.

And… well. You really don't mind, which is weird to admit to yourself when you're not actively trying to calm Karkat down. The only thing you feel is relief that he’s finally getting more sleep.

You don’t examine it. You just let yourself enjoy the feeling, having no urge to leave in an attempt to avoid any potential awkwardness. You lay back into the nest of blankets, pulling Karkat with you so he’s sprawled on your chest, drooling slightly. Your shirt is fucking disgusting from troll dismay fluids, but you’ll deal with that later.

For now, you hold Karkat tighter to you, and stare at the ceiling for twenty-two minutes and sixteen seconds before falling asleep as well.

Curled comfortably around Karkat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	4. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff 4 dayz

He’s still asleep when you wake up. Peacefully too, still sprawled across your chest, dead to the world. Dude’s in a very needed coma, hopefully not wandering dream bubbles, so you don't wake him up, just carefully slipping out from under him.

It’s then that you start to freak out a bit. Because unlike trolls, humans don't cuddle their bros, and a voice rears up in the back of your head, going _dude that is HELLS of GAY._

It sounds like your Bro, and fuck you don't want to think about that. 

You should skitter the fuck outta here, let Karkat wake up alone, and come to an unspoken agreement that this should never be talked about again.

You should, but you don't want to. Karkat’s bloodpusher was broken by Makara, and you don't want to be responsible for hurting him more. But you're dancing across the line of platonic friendship with a troll, whose species does not care about dudes versus ladies in regard to romance. Because there’s no doubt in you any more that moirailship _is_ romantic.

You tell yourself that you don't want to lead him on, and abscond.

Though despite your moment of _totally not gay panic,_ when Karkat emerges from his room, things are surprisingly unawkward. He doesn't avoid your eyes in shame, but also doesn't get up in your space or try to touch you. He simply gives you a faint smile -- _holy shit, have you ever seen him smile before?_ \-- but then its gone and he begrudgingly thanks you, not bothering to elaborate on what for.

And just like that, you're back to being bros. Is it supposed to be this easy? No weird declarations of feelings or dashed expectations? Maybe he really does get that humans just don't work that way. Regardless, you're relieved. You don't want to lose your best bro over a night of somewhat ill-advised cuddling.

Luckily, the whole weird situation seems to have dragged Karkat out of his juggalo-induced funk. He’s eating meals with everyone again, the bags under his eyes have reduced to a normal level, and he’s back to his vulgar ranting self. 

An equilibrium has been reached. And if you’re totally honest with yourself, which you never are, you're really, _really_ glad to have him back. 

But when it’s just the two of you, there’s a softer side to him. And, well, maybe you're softer too. Usually the snark-o-meter is off the charts between you and him, but every now and again, you'll let your guard down (what little is there anyway around him, hell he’s seen your eyes like a billion times now) and the two of you will just _talk._ Like two normal people which both of you sure goddamn aren't. 

Not to mention you simply _notice_ him in a way you never did before. All. The fucking. Time. The way he curls back the covers of his books and chews his lip while he reads. The way he hugs his knees and leans in whenever the slightest bit of a romantic subplot shows up in any movie you force him to watch. 

How his brow furrows in concentration rather than annoyance when you explain your pop culture references to him. How he lets any touch between you linger for for an extra second, before blushing faintly and pulling away. How he watches you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You especially notice how he still eyes the vents nervously and flinches at certain types of sounds. And you try and fail to ignore the way it makes your chest ache.

“I don't think Gamzee actually wanted to go black with me,” he says quietly one day, completely unprompted. The two of you are lying on your backs on top of the meteor, heads next to each other with your bodies stretched out in opposite directions, watching the dream bubbles pass over you. They're cool looking when you're not in them, traversing through traumatizing memories.

Somehow, it’s only then that you realize this is practically a scene from one of Karkat’s shitty romcoms. You shove that in the rather huge filing cabinet in your head marked Shit To Not Think About, where the Karkat folder is getting real fucking full.

Instead, you just ask, “What do you mean?” and turn your head slightly to look at him.

His expression is something close to wistful, still looking up at the not-sky. “I'm pretty sure he just didn't give a fuck anymore and was just looking for an excuse to break off our moirailship.” He pauses. “I mean, he hit the building spike right on its huge fucking head when he said I can't keep my quadrants in line. It's how I fucked shit up with Terezi, and in hindsight I was a teasing pale slut to pretty much everyone in our group. I'm always too up my own waste chute to realize what a fucking moron I'm being. Am. Because let’s be honest, I can't do one single thing right, always too busy fondling my nook about being a fucking _leader_ when it's pretty obvious that Vriska’s always been the one getting shit done.”

God _damn_ why does this kid insist on shitting on himself so much? With a frustrated sigh, you prop yourself up on an elbow and roughly turn his face so he’s looking at you. You are determined to drive some shit home to him.

You ignore how wide his eyes are as you frown at him. “Look bro, I get that you hate yourself but jegus christ you really need to stop and just lay off. I've heard what your session was like, and it was hells of fucked up. No one thinks you were a shitty leader or anything that happened was your fault, except for _you._ Not even Vriska, no matter how much she bitches. As for the quadrants shit, well, we’re teenagers. Dunno how it worked on Troll World, but trust me, humans fuck up relationships literally _all the time._ It’s just part of being a dumb teenager. Or a dumb any age range. Let’s be real here, that shit just goes hand in hand with not being a penguin, those tuxedo wearing bird assholes got that mate-for-life shit on lock. You’re good, dude.”

He inhales sharply at your words (you wonder if anyone’s ever told him he’s good before) then frowns and tries to look away from you, but you roll over into your stomach, still propped up on your elbows. Both of your hands hold his face now, keeping him looking up at you. You're breaking Bro Code so hard it's probably curled up in a corner crying about being violated, but you don't care. This is _important._

“Karkat. I mean it. You're guilting yourself so hard the most hardcore Catholic priest would tell you to calm the fuck down. You're. _Good.”_

He shivers at your words, and looks up at you with the most wanting expression you've ever seen on a face. You rub your thumbs against his cheeks in reassurance, and he brings shaking hands up to lay them over yours.

You want to kiss him. The two of you are doing some fucked up horizontal version of the shitty Spiderman kiss scene and _holy fuck do you want to kiss him._

And if you can read Karkat -- which is crazy easy, let's be real here -- he wants to kiss you. You've been ignoring the way he looks at you, the way Rose arches her eyebrow at you, the way Kanaya bristles protectively when she sees the two of you together. He wants to kiss you, has wanted to for awhile, but has respected your space while you pretended to not notice, pretended that you just thought of him as a best bro.

But _you're_ in _his_ space. Touching his face. Putting your lips so fucking close to his. And despite very blatantly wanting to close the gap, he holds back. Just looks up at you, somehow managing to find your eyes behind your shades just like he always fucking does.

“Dave…” he exhales, and just like that, the Karkat folder comes exploding out of your mental file cabinet, forcing you to acknowledge all those things you haven't wanted to think about. Like the way the two of you fit together in that nest of blankets. How soft his hair is despite being a fucking mess. How much he frustrates the shit out of you. How he smiles so real at you, how you laugh out loud with him, like neither of you do with anyone else.

How fucking _safe_ you feel, knowing that he’s there for you, cares about you, without expecting anything from you, without a single catch.

Your hands are the ones shaking now, and you pull back, accidentally dragging your fingertips across his skin as you sit up on your knees. “Fuck, dude.” The words escape you in a sigh, and you watch as Karkat’s face falls. It makes your chest hurt.

He doesn't look at you as he sits up, bringing his knees up to wrap his arms around them. “Fuck, I fucked up. I didn't mean to make shit awkward. Can we just pretend I'm not a huge, emotionally retarded fuckstick who’s too fucking stupid to take a hint that’s actually not even a hint but a ‘DO NOT CROSS’ sign the size of this fucking meteor?”

 _“Dude._ Quit it, it’s not your fault. Shit’s just complicated, I’m not--”

“I get it, not a ‘homosexual,’ which is still proof that humans are the inferior species for that being a thing. But it's a thing, a thing you're not, and you don't do troll romance which despite being an expert on the subject I'm obviously pretty shitty at. I won't pull any shit again, but it's pretty valid if you hate me for being a nauseatingly needy piece of--”

 _“Karkat.”_ Holy shit, when this fucker got going. “Kiss me.”

You can hear his brain coming to a screeching halt, staring at you with his jaw dropped so hard he looks like the Cave of Wonders, all ready for some nippleless douche in a fez to crawl up into his mouth. 

You take the opportunity of his speechlessness to keep going. “What I was _trying_ to say before you started spewing bullshit is that I’m not sure what I’m doing because this whole wanting to mack on a dude thing is pretty new to me, so I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it. But I know you want to be one of your douchey heroes in your shitty movies and well I’m pretty down for you to go ahead and kiss me. So let's do this, let's make this happen. And I swear to gog if you ask me ‘are you sure?’ I will fling your fine ass right off this meteor.”

He doesn't ask, but you can tell it's taking everything in him not to. So you move towards him, pushing your shades up on top of your head. It's the first time you've taken them off yourself; the times before were by accident or letting him do it. Which really should have been a big fucking sign that you wanted to make out with this nubby-horned, shouty little fucker in the first place.

You put your hand on his cheek again, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath coming out in small, nervous pants. “Karkat. _Kiss me.”_

He hesitates for exactly one second before pressing his lips to yours, soft and gentle and _barely there._ And while that's nice and all, it sure as shit ain't going to cut it. You haven't been wrestling with your sexuality for this chaste bullshit.

So you move the hand on his cheek to the back of his head, use your other hand to grab the front of his dumb sweater, and pull him to you, into your lap, and kiss him _hard._

It's enough to pull him out of his head, which is a feat all on its own, and all hesitation is gone as he slides his own fingers into your hair, gripping you, kissing you like he’s drowning and you're the sexy lifeguard who pulled him out of the water. The metaphor doesn't really work because if you pulled him out of the water he wouldn't be drowning anymore but that's the furthest thing from your mind because _rad jesus surfing christ kissing Karkat is fucking **awesome.**_ It's just the right mix of needy and sloppy and teeth and tongue that you were pretty sure didn't actually exist in real life and you can't get enough of it.

For the first time ever you don't actually know how much time has passed when the kiss ends. Or sort of ends because both of you keep chasing each other's lips, stealing more pecks and nips for only fuck knows how long. When it finally does end, your foreheads are pressed together and your noses touching. Karkat’s eyes are closed as he tries to slow his his heart rate, but you just keep watching him, incapable of looking away.

Once he’s got his breath, he opens his eyes and pulls back; not too far though, because your hand is still on the back of his head, refusing him more than an inch of space. His eyes have started to turn more red; it won't be long before they look like yours.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. “Dave, we should--”

“If you say something about quadrants right now I will lose all ability to get or maintain a boner for the rest of my life. My dick is Superman and quadrants are its kryptonite.”

He frowns, blatantly pouting, and leans back in your hold. “I wasn't going to.”

“Bullshit.” He doesn't fight the accusation. Once you're sure he won't try to move away, you let your hands slide over his sides. “Look, it's pretty obvious this ain't normal for either of us. For you it’s ‘cause we wanna worry, fight, cuddle, and make out all at once, right?” He doesn't say anything, still pouting, so you pinch his side and he squirms. Fuuuuck that feels good because he's basically grinding in your lap, but now isn't the time to think about the half chubby you got going on. “Right?”

“Fine, douchelord, you're right.”

“And for me, it’s because I’ve never wanted to touch another dude’s dick before. So how ‘bout we don't worry about it and just let shit happen, yeah?”

The pout falls from his face and he softens, tightening his grip on you. He’s nervous. “Dave, I don't have a single fucking clue how to do this.”

“Well hey, that makes two of us. It isn't exactly like I've got a wealth of experience to draw from. Human movies don't exactly cover bumping uglies with aliens. Well, alien dudes at least.” Your hands settle on his hips, and it's your turn to be nervous. The physical, you can figure that out, even if it means dealing with Karkat drawing shitty diagrams to explain troll anatomy. But feelings… feelings are hard for you. They're hard for you and no one understands.

Karkat’s expression turns to worry and he touches your face. “Dave?”

You resist the urge to put your shades back on -- you'd have to find them, anyway, they got knocked away at some point during sloppy makeouts -- and take a deep breath to steady yourself. “I don't know what it is either. And it scares the shit out of me and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be fucking terrible at it, but… I want it. I…” Fuck this is hard to say. “I want _you.”_

It's so fucking sappy and makes the Bro in your head scream _GAY GAY GAY GAY AS A WIZARD OF OZ THEMED WEDDING AT A PRIDE PARADE WITH BOTH DUDES DRESSED AS DOROTHY JUMPING THE FUCK OVER THAT RAINBOW._ But the way Karkat looks at you, really _looks_ at you, like you're offering him the whole world and Skaia and Derse and Prospit too, makes Bro’s voice sit down and shut the fuck up.

He swallows hard, muscles suddenly tense. “Tell me this is the alpha timeline.”

It’s such a non sequitur that it takes you a moment to register his demand. “What?”

“You're the fucking Knight of Time. So tell me this is the alpha timeline or so help me I will set this whole fucking meteor on fire and impale myself on Barkbeast Jack’s teeth.”

There’s an intensity to his words that makes you shiver, but a smirk crosses your features when it occurs to you why he’s asking. “Trust me, dude. This timeline is alpha as hell.”

He grabs your face with both hands, pulling you in to kiss you hard and desperate. It’s brief, before he pulls back again to look at you with a furious sort of triumph. You see the Karkat that’s buried behind the insecurity and self-loathing, the one that instilled the closest thing possible to a sense of loyalty and order in a group of maladjusted murder trolls. The one that Karkat can never see in himself. He’s blood and fire and holy fuck he’s _yours_ and you're _his,_ and it's everything you never knew you wanted or thought you deserved, whatever the fuck _this_ is.

It doesn't matter whatever it is or isn't, only that it's the two of you and it's so. Fucking. _Right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue left to wrap this nonsense up.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	5. Transcend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sir! The ship can't handle this much sap!'  
> 'Engines to full speed, Lieutenant.'  
> 'But Sir--!'  
> 'I said _full speed.'_

The two of you never do define it. You never need to. There's no quadrants, no labels, no need to explain it to the others. You're Dave and he’s Karkat and the two of you fight and kiss and calm each other and step in when shit gets rough with someone else. And all you need is the two of you to make it work. When John finally gets the time to press you on it, you tell him that you're boykisrailmatesticebros. Karkat says that's the dumbest shit he’s ever had the displeasure of hearing and it's caused his bulge to retreat so far it’s become a second nook and he’s never going to touch your weird human boner ever again.

John slowly backs away before whooshing off.

Dirk and Karkat don't get along. Being around your kid bro is nerve wracking to say the least, but he seems even more uncomfortable about it than you do. You never thought you'd meet someone who hates himself more than Karkat does but ding ding folks, we have a winner.

The shit you told him about your grown up Bro sure as fuck didn't help his self esteem issues. But you've got an easier time separating Dirk from your Bro than he seems to have separating you from his. Doesn't help that he never met the guy, and therefore never had the chance to get shat on by him the way that probably would have happened because Paradox Space sure as hell loves its bullshit circles and cycles.

The more you learn about Dirk, the more your Bro begins to make sense. Dirk’s undefined-but-pretty-damn-gay sexuality makes you connect the dots about your Bro never bringing anyone home, male or female, not even for just a fuck. The dude never left the apartment either. The toxic masculinity was in all likelihood compensating for being attracted to dudes, repression of those feelings manifesting in his creepy puppet porn. You wonder for the first time about who raised him, if there was anyone. What caused him to be so obsessed with fighting. What his life was like before finding your diapered ass atop a dead horse.

And Lil’ Cal, feeding into all of that, poisoning him against you, the world, and himself.

For the first time in your life, you feel kind of sorry for him. Especially seeing the person he could have been in Dirk. You try, in your own stunted way, to make him acknowledge the truth in what you tried to express on LoHaC. He _isn’t_ your Bro, and isn’t responsible for the fucked up way you were raised.

It’s sure as fuck waddling baby-steps, falling back on it’s ass more than once, but you make progress. Very, very slow progress.

Striders seem to be destined to deal with shit heaps of emotional fuckery, but you've had more time and opportunity to start working through yours than he has his. Rose would probably tell you that beheading him helped work out some weird Oedipal shit, if she still tried to shrink your head all the time. Now she trusts that you'll talk to Karkat about that shit. 

And when it's quiet, the two of you laying curled around each other in bed, in your home, in New Can Town, in this brand fucking new universe you all created together, you do.You still can’t bring yourself to go into details, but you talk and cry and he kisses you and never tells a soul.

But it doesn't exactly engender warm fuzzy feelings from him towards Dirk. Dirk walks on eggshells around him while Karkat snarls and always tries to keep himself physically between the two of you in his dumb impotent protective way.

That's usually all he does. But one day he snaps and calls Dirk a heartless abusive puppet-fucker; you drag him off to your room by the back of his sweater to straight up fucking _yell_ at him for being a hateful shit goblin.

You have pretty fucking volatile angry sex that night, which is rare, but afterwards, he presses his face against your chest and apologizes. He can't handle someone he loves being hurt, and when he looks at Dirk all he thinks about is the shit your Bro put you through. Which you knew, but it's the first time he says it out loud. 

You tell him about all the ways that Dirk and Bro are so far removed from being the same person despite actually being the same person. You tell him about how much Dirk cares, about you, and his friends, about quite literally every fucking person he knows, how he hates himself and blames himself for every little thing despite none of it actually being his fault.

You don't tell him about how much Dirk reminds you of him sometimes.

You have sex again, but this time it's quiet and heartfelt, full of gentle kisses and reassurances.

And he desperately needs those reassurances. Before, on the meteor, when you were in your final approach to the new session, he’d expressed his concern about being left behind. That you’d forget about him once you had your human best bro around. That you only spent time with him for lack of other options. Bros by default.

And of course he said all this while laying with his head on your stomach, your hand massaging the base of his horns, the two of you watching a movie together.

You’d never say it aloud to him, but troll society and ideals really had fucked this guy up. Sure, you could bang two people, were _expected_ to, but more than one best bro? How dare you snuggle cheat on your diamond what kind of monster are you. It might work for other trolls, but it sure as shit didn’t work for Karkat.

And after what happened with Makara, you couldn’t really blame him for being nervous. You’d pulled him up so he was fully laying on top of you, told him that of course you’d still be best bros, you couldn’t make out with John after all. 

He’d countered by asking about Jade and you told him to stop trying to make his shipping grid happen, write all the fanfic he wanted but davekat was canon. He’d rolled his eyes and you kissed him, and his anxieties were assuaged for the time being.

It’s better now, but you can still see his nerves manifest. Despite not understanding human sexualities, he’s scared that you’ll suddenly decide that hey, you don’t like dudes and maybe Nubsy McShoutsalot isn’t the exception you thought he was. You _know_ that your Oedipal pratfall comments about Jane and Roxy exacerbate the situation. It’s something you’re working on. 

But you still occasionally trip up those insecurities, and it always takes a fair amount of effort to soothe them back down. You lay yourself bare before him in a way he knows you don’t do with anyone else. And then you reassure him physically.

Sex with Karkat is way different than you thought it'd be, even without taking bulges and nooks into account. Considering his obsession with romance, you expected requirements of candles and rose petals while My Heart Will Go On plays in the background. And yeah, sometimes he wants that, (though you draw the line at banging to Celine Dion ballads,) though that sure as fuck isn't all he wants.

Sometimes he wants you to hold him down and fuck him through the mattress. Sometimes he wants you to tie him up and tease him, or reduce him to a sobbing mess just by telling him how good he is. And sometimes he wants to explore every inch of your skin until you almost can’t take it, or flip you around and fuck you into the wall, or ride your dick until you think it's going to fall off. Or he’ll just want to straight up _worship_ you, his face in your lap for hours, getting his jollies from getting you off more times than you thought physically possible. And by fuck you want to do all those things too.

He wants everything and to give you everything and you want to take everything and just turn around and give it all back.

It's trite. It's cliche. And it's totally unironic. It's everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP THERE IT IS. First multi-chapter fic I've ever finished. First Homestuck fic I've ever written. Thanks for the ride and support, everyone!


End file.
